


Unto Every End

by grav_ity



Series: Cruor Mos Sicco (Blood Will Out) [1]
Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Gen, The Five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-18
Updated: 2011-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grav_ity/pseuds/grav_ity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was her experiment, and she went first. What came after was still her fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unto Every End

**Author's Note:**

> N: This was originally a multi-chaptered story, but then chapter two sort of took off and became it’s own thing and chapter three will probably do the same thing (because Tesla does not. shut up), so you’re getting chapters 1 and 4 as separate entities that are no longer really connected.
> 
> Spoilers: The Five, For King and Country.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine, of course, and since I’m probably the millionth person to write this fic, that’s probably a good thing.
> 
> Characters: Helen Magnus, John Druitt, James Watson, Nigel Griffin and Nikola Tesla

**Unto Every End**

When, in the final moments of normalcy, Nikola kneels before her chair, his gaze flickers to John. It is that motion that lets her know how terrified he is, because he was the very first of them all to become accustomed to following her suggestions. His hesitation now has nothing to do with her sex, and he is not so presumptuous as to ask John permission for what he is about to do. It is rather, she thinks, that he believes John will know if her bravery up to this point has all been a front, and if she has somehow given John allowance enough to put an end to this before it begins.

She has done nothing of the sort, however, and she does not have to spare John a glance to know that he will make no move to halt what is about to happen. James has paced into her line of sight, his hands all but turned to rock as he clenches them by his side. He felt that, as the medical doctor present, it should have fallen to him to make the initial injection, and despite her assertions that she will need him far more afterwards, when Nikola will be occupied with the proper disposal of the needle, he is still angry with her. Angry and afraid.

She cannot see Nigel, but she can hear him winding the clock above the mantlepiece as though he wants to be sure that in the years to come they all remember the precise time of the event. Nearly two decades will pass before she realizes that in fact she has no memory at all of what time it was, nor what they ate for dinner, nor any of the jokes James told over dessert. She will never remember the lesser events of the day, only the way Nikola’s eyes searched for any hint of dissonance in her resolve, and the way John’s hands gripped her own. Only the needle, as it plunges into her arm, and the delicate pressure as Nikola empties the syringe.

For a fraction of a second, she feels nothing. A very small part of her is relieved, but most of her mourns the loss of knowledge and potential. And then she feels it, on the edges of the vein that courses towards her heart, a new fire that burns inside her, one that will never be put out for so long as she lives. The blood reaches her heart, dispersing and mixing like water and wine. And then, and then it is like an explosion in her very centre. John’s grip hardens and Tesla grasps her free hand with his, crossing over their unspoken boundaries with none of the hesitation he feigns to set her at her ease.

With all the surety the muscle has ever known, her heart begins to pump the blood into the rest of her body. She feels it spreading, racing through her, and cannot control the tremors in her hands, the way her breath comes in the most unladylike gasps imaginable, and the inevitable convulsions that follow.

“Nikola, the needle!” James cries, all but pushing the younger man out of the way as he races to her side. Nikola retreats with none of his customary bluster and carefully deposits the needle in the tray Nigel has carefully prepared. “John - ”

John had already been skirting the edge of propriety by holding her hand so tightly before the injection. At James’s unvoiced order, he wraps his other arm around her shoulders, and she is held as though encased in steel.

“Nigel, her ankles please,” is next, and even mid-seizure she is taken aback. Nigel, it appears, shares her discomfort, because although he moves towards her feet he makes no sign that he is willing to touch them. “Nigel!”

And then there is a spoon in her mouth, pressing her tongue down so that she feels she might choke, and Nigel overcomes his fear of indecency, ridiculous, she realizes, since she is wearing both stockings and leather boots, and even in her current state of disarray, he is unlikely to see or touch anything untoward, and presses her feet back against the floor.

She sits in the chair, held in place by the men she already thinks of as comrades despite their somewhat murky reasons for agreeing to follow her this far off the beaten path, until the blood has finally permeated every cell in her body and her seizing stops. Her head lolls forward as her breathing eases, and she spits out the spoon so that she can swallow. Nigel releases her immediately, but John’s touch turns to gentle caress and lingers for a moment.

“Helen?” James says as though he expects her to be struck mute and dumb by the experience.

“I’m fine,” she replies, smiling but still somewhat short of breath. She can see that none of them believe her. “Really, gentlemen.”

“How do you feel?” Nikola asks, every single one of his pretences firmly back in place.

“I feel,” she hesitates, unsure of how to put into words the sensation that now swims through her veins, the idea that she could tread water forever, and never fear going under. “I feel alive. I apologize, my friends, that I cannot be more specific at this time. I will, I think, require more observation.”

“Indeed,” says John. He turns to James, “Shall we continue?”

“I am still willing,” Nikola chimes in immediately.

“As am I,” James agrees, “But perhaps - ”

Only now does he look at Helen, still flushed from her experience. She cannot blame his reticence. It is scientifically unsound to continue the experiment without first observing the blood’s effects on her as fully as possible.

“No.” It’s Nigel who speaks, somewhat surprisingly. A brilliant mind in his own right, he did have the tendency to fade into the background, willingly taking second seat to which ever of them is immersed in creative fugue. “No, we should continue as we started this, together.”

She smiles at him then, and when he returns it, she understands that he is not thinking that they should follow her example because she is a woman and to do otherwise would be to show cowardice, but because they are The Five, and the experiment was not designed for a single one of them.

“Very well then, Nikola?” James presses forward, offering her a hand that she does not precisely need but is grateful for nonetheless. “Another needle if you please.”

James takes her place in the chair, and this time it is Helen who holds the syringe while the other three hold James down. His convulsions are no worse than her own, but his greater strength shows in John’s strain.

“I say, old boy,” John says when James has quieted. “You might have to fetch a rope and tie me down.”

Helen cannot stop the blush that stains her cheeks at his words, but she has turned away to dispose of the needle, and only Nikola sees her expression. His face curls into an emotion she is not entirely sure she likes before settling back into his usual countenance of self-mockery.

Nigel is next, and his is the last unremarkable transition of the evening. By the time John takes his seat, arms held in place by his own and Nikola’s neckties since the idea of happening upon one of the servants in the hallway with a coil of rope in one hand was deemed an unnecessary risk, they have all relaxed somewhat.

She cannot help the scream that escapes her, however quickly muffled, when John gives only one incredibly violent seizure, jerks free of the hands that hold him down, and disappears in a flash of purple light. The ties lie slack against the arms of the chair and there is the faintest smell in the air, as though something had burned far hotter than a Bunsen burner could manage.

The four of them stand in the room, gaping at one another like they haven’t a thought between them. Nigel looks to be on the edge of panic, and even Nikola’s deliberate calm is considerably ruffled. It is James who recovers first, and turns to lock the door so that that no overenthusiastic member of the Helen’s household will come to investigate the cause of her distress. He has no sooner turned back to them when there is a pounding on the door which strength and familiar cadence indicate can only be John.

“Dear God,” Helen gasps and James fumbles with the key and John is finally admitted into the room. “John, what in heaven’s name?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Helen.” His voice is shaky, and he accepts the glass Nikola wordlessly passes over with a nod of thanks that bears no sign of their usual disregard for one another. “One moment I was here, and there was more pain than I had been expecting. To endure, I cast my mind on something pleasant, only to find myself standing there in the next breath.”

“Where did you imagine?” Nigel asks, and then turns the faintest shade of plum as he reasons out where in the house John has undoubtedly returned from.

“Enough of that, it’s my turn,” Nikola says loudly, all brash and uncaring, but with a look at Helen that conveys he knows exactly what he’s doing. “John, if you would be so kind as to remain?”

“Of course,” John replies, glaring for all the reprieve Nikola has granted him.

Helen prepares the final needle, leaving a goodly portion of blood in the vial should they require it for further experimentation. Nikola has rolled his sleeve up by the time she reaches his side, and the familiar smirk on his face as her fingers deftly search for a vein restores some sense of equilibrium to the room.

She presses the needle up against his skin and then through it. He sighs as the blood slides in, which she remembers only because for the first time since she has known him, he looks at peace, as though he belongs. He does not seize like they did, but instead draws inward, fingers curling around the carved wooden armrests of the chair, body compressing as though pushed down by a heavy weight. She hears a scraping sound, like he’s drawing razor blades across the wood, and then James is pulling her back, putting as much space between them and Nikola as he can while John and Nigel strain to hold him.

Helen doesn’t understand until Nikola’s eyes open and he smiles at her with altogether too many teeth. She looks into the black abyss that is his new gaze, and realizes that the world has just ended, but her life in it has just begun.

+++

 **fin**

**Author's Note:**

> Gravity_Not_Included, January 17, 2011


End file.
